“The Gentle Conspiracy” Read online

“Mr. President, the Russian ambassador is here to see you now, Sir,” the White House secretary announced to Temple from her desk.

  “Thank you, Cindy,” he said as he finished up a flurry of signatures on several legal writs as an aide held a business folder as a hard surface for the president to use.

  After he finished the last signature and date, President Temple thanked the young man and made his way to a secured area of the White House to meet the ambassador; his

  two secret service guards flanking his every step. Temple was surprised to see a middle-aged man standing, alone, in the middle of the hall where said dignitaries normally walk up to meet the president—along with their entourage! Temple stopped just before getting to the hall and looked at his body guards.

  “It's alright, Mr. President...we've got everything covered,” the taller of the two officers said and gestured with his head that it was ok for him to walk up to the ambassador.

  Temple's glare went back and forth between the two, formally dressed officers and made a mental note about whether or not to fire them.

  “You wouldn't keep a Gentleman waiting...would you,” the man asked, sarcastically; his Eastern European accent ringing down the hall.

  President Temple felt a chill run down his spine! Indeed, he recognized the man. He was one of the Cabal members he had seen in that Chamber about a week ago! The man had not interacted with the president, but given the intensity of the experience, Temple made sure to remember those faces as best he could! He slowly walked up to the Gentleman while the two secret agents kept an eye on things.

  “Where's Ambassador Rustan,” he demanded of the slender man. Temple remembered that many of his cohorts were dressed in out-dated dress-ware, as if they were in some freakish costume convention! But today, this man was in contemporary affair.

  “We gave him the day off,” he said with no irony whatsoever.

  Temple kept his eyes on those of the Gentleman's to gauge his sincerity. “I think you forgot whose name was checked on the ballot for president last year...I'll give you five seconds to turn around and go back to that cave where you and all your boyfriends like to play dress-up! Five...Four—“

  “Officers, could you give us a moment,” the Gentleman said to the secret service agents over Temple's shoulder.

  To his surprise, the two men turned to walk down the hall!

  “Abel...Chris,” the president called out to them, “get back here!” But they were gone. Temple knew that was just the Gentleman's way of demonstrating his power over him. Slowly, Evan Temple was beginning to see another world behind the hairline cracks of his world!

  Apparently, the Gentleman could see this in Temple's face. The man softened his demeanor before he spoke. “Mr. President, we saw that you were actually doing a good job in trying to put an end to all this nonsense with Iran. So, we already set up a meeting with China's premier, the Russian president, and President Karaj.” The man actually smiled! “It'll be fine, Mr. President. From what I've heard how things are going, the war should be over, probably, by next week or so!”

  Again, just to make sure it was not some sick joke or misunderstanding, President Temple held his gaze into the Gentleman's face. But Temple was the type to convince himself before others could do that for him. From one of his dress-jacket's pockets, the president took out his secured cell phone and placed a call to the White House secretary.

  “Yes, Mr. President,” she said cheerfully over the cell.

  “Cindy, has the Secretary of State left me any messages?”

  “He did, Sir,” the young woman said without any hesitation.

  “Anything about the meeting...?” He was deliberately vague with her.

  “Uh, you mean with Presidents Karaj and Markov, and Premier An? Yes, Sir...of course he said he'd fill you in with the details, but he said that it was a thumbs up so far!” Silence for a while. “Is everything alright, Mr. President?”

  Checkmate!

  “Yeah, uh, yes, Cindy...just kind of hard to keep the players straight with all these meetings I've had lately.” As Temple finished up, the Gentleman nodded with approval at the president's performance.

  “No problem, Mr. President. That's what I'm here for!” And the call was ended.

  The Gentleman watched as President Temple slowly paced, rubbing his chin as he was trying to figure out the puzzle with missing pieces. Temple noticed how the Gentleman stood properly, his hands behind his back; confidence exuding from his pores, as it were. Visually, Temple knew that it looked like the Gentleman was the president; not him!

  “I can't believe this,” the president whispered to himself as he continued to pace; his back to the chap.

  “Mr. President, we were hoping with the Secretary of State meeting with the principles in Tehran, that it would clear up your schedule a bit so we could take care of that unfinished business.”

  Temple heard the Gentleman, but really had no interest in responding. But he could see, now, that he was not in charge. “So...I mean, I knew about the Electoral College since before I could even vote! But...” Temple finally turned to face the Gentleman and looked at him in the eyes. Not with confrontation, but with powerless wonderment. “So, why do you—all of you!—even bother to have the presidency? Why put on the charade? Literally, even!”

  The Gentleman chuckled at that last point, knowing that Temple was referring to the Cabal's choices in attire! He thought for a few seconds before responding. “Well, Mr. President, you said it yourself back in the Chamber. Remember? Democracy. Oh, we're powerful, President Temple. We've been that man behind the curtain since before your Revolution! But even we cannot control a raging sea of humanity when social pressures are high in society...we've learned this from the French and Soviet Revolutions, and America's of course. By the time the Great Depression hit in 1929, and with the unfortunate rise of that dreaded Reich in Germany soon after, we knew that our power on events and governments had waned significantly!”

  The Gentleman noticed the alarmed look in the president's face. “Please tell me you didn't have anything to do with America joining the Second World War to balance things out! Or, or...the Space Race; JFK's assassination; G W Bush becoming President...”

  President Temple looked upon the Gentleman with askance. The man shrugged. Again, with no irony. “Ok, Sir, I won't tell you.”

  Temple winced upon hearing that. But he let the Gentleman continue; his hands remaining clasped behind him. “As for the literal charade you referred to...there's no harm in me telling you that it's mere tradition. Some members decide to don the clothing of our ancestors just as a reminder of how far back our group goes and which era we've had the strongest influences. Nothing nefarious to it; sorry!

  “Perhaps you noticed that these days we prefer to call ourselves Gentlemen.” President Temple nodded absently at his question, yet recovering from the shock of it all. “Right...well, as you can understand, Mr. President, that it would be, shall I say, distracting if we used our original identity in the 21st century! I'm afraid it's one of the drawbacks of the Internet and television, from our perspective. There are so many citizens in the world with exaggerated, conspiratorial narratives that we would simply put ourselves in danger if we went by our original name. No, Mr. President, we've worked too hard to get to where we are today since our destruction in the 18th century!”

  This time, the Gentleman noticed that even for Temple, he seemed to be in deeper thought about something. “Mr. President, I hope I haven't completely lost you, Sir!”

  After, yet, more time in thinking, President Temple once again faced the Gentleman. “So, you, Gentlemen, are basically all about balance in the world?”

  “Indeed, we've always advocated reasoning and rationality over archaic superstitions! We've always tr
ied to spread education and critical thinking to various citizenry all over the world!” This time, the Gentleman was a bit more animated. “Mind you, our tactics sometimes can be a bit controversial, but...yes, we strive to maintain some balance in the world, when and where it's needed.”

  Again, the US president went into a shuddered place in his mind. The Gentleman, having done this for years, knew when to give space to the subject.

  “Ok,” Temple said, nodding sadly to himself, “I'll do it—the, unfinished business we talked about back in the Chamber.”

  The Gentleman beamed at Temple and gave him a supportive rub on one of his shoulders.

  “But this must be for all that balancing you spoke of,” the president threw in defiantly.

  “I promise you, Mr. President, it will...under the circumstances of your country's primary and general election last year, we had to resort to more creative ways to achieve this particular goal.”

  Temple nodded pensively and said nothing for a long while. The two secret service guards peered into the hall to make sure everything was alright. He started to wave them off, but deferred his eyes to the Gentleman.

  “Sir, you are still the president, Mr. Temple,” he said with a slight smile.

  Temple wearily gestured to the agents that he was alright. It all felt so contrived, now. But he had to look at the big picture.

  “So,” he said with a lingering sigh, “what'll be the cover story?”

  The Gentleman was a bit surprised at the president's directness already. “Well...some in the Chamber thought going the impeachment route would be too long and costly. Myself included in that camp. We crunched some scenarios with our met-drives, and the most plausible narrative seems to be an accident.”

  President Temple whipped his head toward the man; an inquisitive face greeting the Gentleman.

  “You're a former football player; you still exercise, as do all American presidents, so your health is a very low risk-factor. To say nothing of your medical coverage! As you said to our organization in the Chamber, you were very popular in the election, so it would not be very likely that some group would want to assassinate you...” The Gentleman shrugged, his hands yet behind him. “The meta-models make sense. If this were real, you would most likely die in an accident than any other possible demise!”

  Temple tsked to himself as he looked away. “You sure my family—“

  “And this is the terrible part in all this, President Temple,” the Gentleman strategically interrupted him. “I was not joking about how the Internet made things a lot more difficult for the group! Social media, in particular. Somehow, Mr. President; somehow, one of your family members would leak the truth...I'm very sorry, Sir.”

  By that time, Temple was already nodding his head in submission. “As I said, so long as the Gentlemen are doing this for the greater good of our country and humanity, it's a price I'll have to pay.”

  This time, it was Evan Temple that noticed something on the other man's mind.

  “Well...I shouldn't say this, but you will not be the first to have done it this way, Mr. President! It's hard; this is true. But you will be greatly compensated for this...but, I admit, it's no substitute for your own family.”

  Silence in the hall.

  “When,” Temple asked after about a minute.

  “Even I don't know,” the Gentleman said with frankness. “But don't worry, Sir, we will definitely let you know when. In fact, you won't have a say in it,” he said with a subtle warning.

  Message received.

  President Temple straightened his posture and re-adjusted his suit, then his thick head-full of hair. The Gentleman, standing ever still next to him, looked upon Temple with a whisk of pride.

  “Thank you, Mr. President,” the Gentleman said as he extended a hand. The president shook it sincerely.

  “Actually, thank all of you Gentlemen! We better, um, get security to walk you out...you know; stay in character, as they say in Hollywood!”

  That was the old President Evan Temple that the Gentleman was used to seeing on the news. For the first time, he actually laughed.

  But before President Temple called for the secret service, he stopped himself and furtively said to the Gentleman, “Oh, and, believe me when I say this: Vice-President Katheryn MacIntosh will do a great job as president, when I'm gone!”

  The Gentleman smiled and nodded as the president walked off and the two agents passed him to escort the enigmatic agent of change out. “That's the idea, Mr. President...that's the idea.”

  ~~end~~

 

 

 

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